


Untitled

by hipsterlarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Character building, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers, Grim Reaper Zayn, Historical Inaccuracy, Inspired by Goblin (K-drama), Kinda, M/M, Slow Burn, Supernatural Being Harry, Witch Louis Tomlinson, so many, world-building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 14:04:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21321412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hipsterlarry/pseuds/hipsterlarry
Summary: The door slams open, banging against the wall forcefully.Harry quickly rights his slouched position on the couch, adjusting his sleek black vest. He snatches a random book from the side table, opening it in panic and plastering an expressionless face just as Louis walks into the living room."Harry you ancient motherfucker!" He shouts in glee.Harry pretends to look disinterested at Louis, who is beaming at him from his position across the coffee table. He's making it very hard."Yes, Louis.""I have to take ancient history," Louis voice becomes a little higher. Harry successfully quells his smirk. "I'm gonna fucking ace this course!"
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan/Zayn Malik
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	Untitled

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome to a work of mine that I really want to try hard on!  
This fic I've been working on for a little while now and decided to put out a little prologue to get people interested... maybe.  
It's inspired by TVN's Goblin (2016), I fell in love with the show so hard. It also has a few other elements thrown in from other tv shows I've been watching, but the writing is all mine :p  
The first like, 2, chapters will be all world building and backstory before the Larry starts, so please bare with me I feel like its super important in my task at character experimentation and world building practice.  
I also haven't thought of a title good enough so if anyone has any ideas please pass em over, I of course will credit you properly.
> 
> I am looking for a BETA because I want this to be the best story it can be. If you're interested comment down below, I'd prefer if you have experience being a Beta. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, please leave a comment and kudos if you do :D
> 
> AGAIN LOOKIN FOR A BETA :D

Harry, walking through a park on a quiet Saturday afternoon, nurses a beer held in his right hand hanging quite numbly at his side. His boots scuffle against the grass as he drags his legs lazily. His boot catches a jutting tree root and he falls forward, very ungracefully, into the grass below. His beer has spilled, he feels it splash over his hand as he falls and seep into the ground next to him, also soaking a little into his nice trousers. Luckily there was no one around to see him take his tumble. He sighs into the grass. 

He rolls over, ignoring the sharp stones and bumpy roots digging their way into his back through his clothes. His eyes are closed as he takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He can feel the sun on his face, the heat drowned out with the light breeze that accompanies it. It just feels nice, quiet, calm. He’s used to quiet and calm. He regards it dearly. 

He’s tired. Also used to that. He does not regard it dearly. It’s a persistent ache behind his eyes and in his chest. He knows exactly where it’s from, knows how to solve it, but it’s not time yet. He knows all too well that it’s not the time. 

But, he’s patient. He can wait. He’s been waiting. He’s used to that. 

His first millennia was amazing. Drunk on the thought of never dying. Never aging. He amassed a fortune, as one would when all you have is time. He learned everything he could. He indulged in the arts, and other not so decent activities. He watched events turn to history and story. Cities rise, fall, and disappear. It was exhilarating, watching everything go by so fast as he stood still. 

Harry sighed, again. 

The second millennia, things slowed. He wasn’t sure if he liked how he felt all of a sudden. Noticing details more, clearer. He took note of things, writing what he could when he could. For some reason it felt important. He thought, in that time. Watched his homes and cities be destroyed, his servants and slaves killed, his friends die. He took note, of the people who grew old, how the children had children, how they then found their partners and had more children. 

He’s lost a lot of those notes now, but his memory has never failed him.

The one saving grace of that time was Livius, and his subsequent line of ancestors. It was a new kind of pain for Harry to feel when Livius passed. In that time Livius was his son, nephew, brother, and father. He grew close to the boy he saved and even closer to the man he had become. Harry laid him to rest at his home in Rome, with his descendants to follow. It was one thing to be physically alone, but another to be alone in time. 

The third millennia Harry was as alive as he could be with the hope of finding his one. The one to end his cruel life. To no avail, despite the thousands of people he came across in his travels and his time, none could see the arrow. He had no interest if they couldn’t. 

The fourth, and current millennia, Harry is exhausted. Tired of living. And so starving for something he can’t find. If he weren’t immortal he most certainly would have died of the hunger. Or a lonely heart. Whichever lead him quicker he thinks. He is most frustrated with his godlike abilities that are no help to his personal problem at all. He has burned down a building or two in his frustration. He can’t pull the one he needs from thin air, can’t summon them or create them. 

_ Fuck fate. _

He sighs closing his eyes to the sun in his face and enjoys the sound of the leaves and the grass. He can hear a few giggles of children in the distance and one that is a little closer, he pays no mind. 

_ If only they could fall from th- _

His thoughts are interrupted by a loud squeal and a small weight crashing onto his stomach and chest. He groans at the sudden weight and his emotions take an irritated turn, flames starting to drip from his hands. He puts his deadliest glare to work and looks down to his rude awakening. 

“Fucking little sh-”, the words die quickly in his throat as he takes in the small chubby face of a baby no older than two. He’s smiling like the sun Harry thinks, little blue eyes sparkling, babbles of incoherent words leaving his mouth rapidly. 

The flames on Harry’s hands dissipate as he lifts one to poke the little boys chubby cheek. The boy erupts into giggles, another loud squeal erupting from him as he excitedly swings his arms down on Harry’s chest. Harry grabs the boys little fists in his own and sits up, lifting the boy with him. Still holding the boy by the fists Harry squints his eyes and takes in the little boy’s appearance. 

He’s got little blue eyes, a tuft of light brown hair, a smile of approximately eight teeth. His little overalls fit nicely over a white short sleeved cotton shirt, and little red trainers are velcroed to his feet. The boy swings his legs and wiggles incessantly as he hangs in front of Harry. Harry sets him down and lets go of the tiny fists. 

Something was coming from the baby, something that made Harry’s skin itch a little. His slightly drunk mind couldn’t pinpoint what the feeling was. 

The boy wobbles a little as he’s put down, but ultimately falls back onto his puffed bottom. The shock makes the baby’s eyes widen, his chin trembles and mouth turns down. Little tears gather in his eyes. Harry watches, a small panic settling in his chest as the child starts to sniffle. A mantra of ‘shit’s are flowing in his head as he tries to think of something to distract the baby. 

He’s a strange man with a spilt beer can not too far from him, in a park, with a crying baby. He throws his hand out, palm up, in front of the boy. Who apparently doesn’t like that because his cries get louder. Harry concentrates, his flames always taking a little more time to come to him while he’s been drinking. A spark, then a ball of green flame makes a tiny explosive entrance on his palm. 

With a ‘ha!’ he looks to the baby proudly. The baby shocked out of crying, squeals again, loudly. Harry winces at the sound, but keeps the flame up. The boy, with a small ‘ooh’, reaches towards the flame. Harry is quick to pull back, tutting. 

“It is very hot little baby, you will burn.”

Before the boy can realize what rejection is, Harry holds his other hand out and summons a second small ball of flame, he throws them both in the air and summons a third, sloppily juggling them a few times for the boy, him squealing in delight.

“Juggling is one of many talents I possess.” Harry says, smirking to the boy.

The boy claps his little hands wildly, a combination of giggles and squeals erupting from his small frame. His blue eyes follow the green lights intently.

Harry lets them drop back into his palms and theatrically slams them together, extinguishing the flames. The boys starts, his eyes going wide at the sound. Harry opens his palms again and blows, green sparkles fluttering like glitter, surrounding the boy in their slight glow. The sparks flit around the boy, who tries to grab at them, they fade away peacefully in the light afternoon breeze. 

Harry sways a little as he leans back in his seated position to watch the boy with a serene smile. The boy stares back at Harry, a little smile on his face, then down at his small hands. His face scrunches a little, and takes on the same expression of concentration Harry held prior. He holds his hand out, just as Harry did.

Harry chuckles, “babe, you canno-”

A tiny green flame bursts from the baby’s palm, interrupting Harry. It fizzles out when the boy squeals and waves his arms around in a little circle.

Harry sits stunned, his jaw dropped a little. He lets out a small scoff of disbelief. 

“Well aren’t you an interesting little thing.”

The baby keeps giggling to himself in little bursts, he closes and opens his little fist, but is soon distracted by the grass and surrounding small flowers. Harry leans back on his hands, watching the boy curiously. One of his legs bent upwards the other bent resting on the ground. His head flops to the side as he smiles small.

The child is cute, he thinks. So young, so innocent, yet can wield fire. Very similar to his own. It makes Harry curious, but his mind is too tired to think as he watches the boy babble and wave his little arms. 

The boy looks to Harry, and zeroes in on his chest. An ‘ooh’ escapes the babes mouth and he plants his small hands on the ground in front of him. He launches his puffy behind in the air, and stands with a slight wobble. Harry chuckles to himself at the effort. 

The baby waddles over with grabby hands, stepping over Harry’s bent leg, his tiny foot getting caught slightly. He stumbles, little hands landing on Harry’s chest, close to the object of his desire. He closes his small fist around the necklace and yanks, hard. Harry lets out a squawk in shock, quick to wrap his own hand around the baby’s.

He gives a small glare, “that was quite rude.”

The only reply Harry receives is a string of babbles. He pries the little fist from his necklace and squints at the boy who has yet to avert his eyes.

“This, is very important little one. You cannot just yank it.” Harry says, soft but stern. The little boy pays no attention.

It’s small, the necklace. Gold filigree surrounding a hollow crystal ball. Inside, a sliver of Harry’s flame. 

The little boy stops struggling in Harry’s grip, looks him straight in the eye with a small pout.

“Mine.”

An indignant squawk leaves Harry’s mouth before he can stop it. “This most certainly is not yours.” 

“Mine. Mine. Mine.” The boy starts struggling again, trying to reach his arms forward.

It’s a back and forth of high ‘mine’s and ‘no’s from Harry until Harry’s grip on the child slips. The boy manages to grab the necklace and his entire face lights up, little eyes twinkling.

Is Harry seeing things? Twinkling? 

Another string of giggles interrupts Harry’s thoughts. He relents. With a sigh, Harry lifts the necklace over his own head to places it around the boy. It was extra long on Harry, so the small flame lands over the baby’s belly. 

_ Why am I doing this? _

“Hey, baby. Boy. Whatever your name may be.” The baby isn’t paying attention. “Protect that necklace with your life understand?” Harry looks pointedly at him. The boy shoves the pendant in his mouth. “Please, do not eat that.” 

Harry pulls the boy’s fist from his mouth and gets a screech in protest. He’s quick to cover the little boys mouth with his palm, snot and saliva drenching it. When the screeching stops Harry wipes his palm on the grass with a disgusted look.

“Babies are still disgustingly messy things aren’t they?” He mutters.

“Louis!” Comes a shout in the distance. “Louis! Baby where are you?!” It’s frantic and getting closer. 

The baby doesn’t look all too concerned. Going back to chewing on the pendant.

“Do not eat that.” Harry pulls his little fist again. Before the boy starts screeching Harry asks, “Louis?” The baby looks up at him. A big grin settles on his little face, crinkles by is very blue eyes, and Harry gets that itch again. “Your mother seems to be looking for you.” 

“Louis!” The frantic voice comes again, significantly closer. 

“Mama?”

Harry hums in agreement, and stands. Louis’ eyes follow him. Harry dusts off his trousers and jacket then squats in front of the boy, lifting him by the arms. Louis follows easily, extending his legs to stand. Harry pats the small spatters of dust of the tiny overalls. The fist is back in his mouth.

“Please,” Harry says exasperatedly. “Do not eat that.” He sighs. “You’re lucky you’re cute and interesting. I would not have gifted you that necklace otherwise. Take care of that for me Louaki mou” With a light kiss to the little boy’s forehead Harry disappears in a show of green flame. 

“Louis!” A shout of relief is heard. 

Louis’ mother Jay finds her baby stood in a perfect small circle of wildflowers, looking picturesque as he giggles to himself. He isn’t hurt, and at that she breathes a heavy sigh of relief. She snatches him up quickly in a crushing hug, her nose burying in his hair as his face finds a comfortable spot on her shoulder near her neck. She looks down at the flowers, then around at the trees, eyes scanning. 

She walks home.


End file.
